


Exercise in Trust

by thegreatgayjatsby



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Blackrom, Bottom!Dualscar, Bulges and Nooks, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Consensual, Light Bondage, Light Dirty Talk, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Nook Eating, PWP, Psiioniic play, Smut, Top!Psiioniic, gagging, happy au where dualscar just wants to fuck the revolution and theres no sadness, psionic play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:10:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3129065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatgayjatsby/pseuds/thegreatgayjatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dualscar wants nothing more than to be brought back to the Revolution's camp, and what better way to prove that he's trustworthy than to let the Psiioniic tie him up and pail him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exercise in Trust

**Author's Note:**

> i love this ship please ship this ship it and rp with me

“Relax, sugarfins, I’m not going to hurt you.” 

The Psiioniic’s lisp is heavy in your auditory canals, and you give a whole-bodied twitch, back scraping against the rough tree trunk behind you. He gives you a pap to the shoulder and you growl low in your throat, the noise clear in spite of the scarred rubber bit between your teeth. You wonder why he had it on hand, in the first place.

“I’m going to keep you tied up the whole time. You said you wanted as much. If you stay this tense you’re going to get rope-burn.” He states matter-of-factly, his hand travelling from your shoulder to the column of your neck so he can rub lightly at the filaments of your gills. 

A smoothed down claw-tip traces along the slit of a gill, and you close your eyes, chirring softly. His hand slows in it’s movements, but increased in pressure, and your nook clenches. His second hand seems to come out of nowhere, toying with the laces of your breeches, and your eyes open half-lidded to gaze up at him. 

You hate that he’s those few inches taller than you, but at least you’re broader than him. His smirk fills your field of vision and your slow chirrs turn to a snarl. He chuckles softly and tugs the last string free of it’s eyehole, than peels your breeches down. You stare into the forest around you as he kneels to work your boots off, and you step from your breeches when he pats your calf. 

You curl your toes, enjoying the feel of moss between them, and you shrug your shoulders a little as he unbuttons your shirt, pulling it down to drape against your bound hands. You rotate your wrists, and your tunic falls into a more comfortable position against them. 

“This good for you, Captain?” Psii asks teasingly against your earfin as he steps up against you, clothed bulge pressed tight the V of your pelvis. 

You nod a little as your hips roll, smudging violet streaks over the garish yellow of his jumpsuit. He smiles a little, and he nibbles the bottom-most tine of your fin as his hand slithers between the two of your, fingers skimming along your unsheathing bulge. You grimace a little as the first drips of fluid make their way down your inner thighs, and you buck when he pinches between your bulge base and your nook seam. 

“You want my bulges?” He pushes, voice dipping a few octaves to that tone that sends your dorsal spines raising sharply. They press to the tree trunk behind your and you rock forwards against him.

He kisses you around the gag, laving his bifurcated tongue across your lips, and you can’t help but tug hard at your bonds. You can feel the rope give way slightly, and immediately steal yourself back to complacency. You don’t want your highblood strength ruining this for you. This is an exercise of trust.

Not only trust between kismesis’, but trust between highblood and revolutionary. You hope dearly that he’ll bring you to their camp, or let you take him to your ship. You’re sick and tired of pailing in the woods. It’s too far below your station for you to be anywhere near comfortable out in the open like this. 

His absurdly spidery fingers parting the swollen lips of your nook bring you back to reality, and you break the kiss to rest your head back against the tree he’s got you bound to. He appears to be incredibly concentrated, nudging your clothes out of the way so he can kiss his way down your chest, lingering over scars and ribgills alike before settling his lips at the sopping entrance of your nook.

You meet his gaze with his fervor, and his split tongue darts out to swipe a heavy line between your legs. A yip tears free of your throat, muffled by the bit, and you shuffle a little, spreading your legs to give him room to work. He wraps his arms around your thighs, both hands grabbing your ass whole-heartedly, and dives in.

His tongue--tongues?--are absolutely iconic, and your fins flare out in embarrassment at the disgustingly wet slurping noises they make as they dip into your nook. He suckles a little, kneading your ass, and you feel your knees buckle as he locates your pleasure nub. 

He presses you into the tree, and you don’t notice his powers flaring to life until they’re cradling your to him, lifting your legs up so he doesn’t need to hold you up. Once his hands are free to roam, he ducks under your legs, propping your knees over his skinny shoulders. If it weren’t for his glorious nook-eating abilities, you would be infuriated with his fall. 

Your lightning-bolt horns lay perpendicular to the tree trunk as you roll your hips, hard the first time and harder the next. He pulls away to look at you, mouth and chin stained violet, and he lets your legs drop a little, licking his lips with extreme satisfaction written across his face. 

You groan in disappointment as he shucks his way out of his suit, which takes his hands from your skin, and you buck your hips greedily at his bulges as they come into sight. He smooths his hands down your thighs, then grabs your hips and angles you with the aid of his psions, feeding one bulge into you and then the second in quick succession.

He moans when you clench tight around him, seizing up as his bulges curl around each other and drill deeper into you. You struggle for a second, trying to demand he slow down--you only just started bottoming after all--but you give in when he wraps a hand around your leaking bulge.

Psiioniic starts up a sharp in-out rhythm, and you close your eyes, legs hooked high over his hips and your heels digging into the backs of his thighs. He braces himself on the tree and tightens his powers on you, keeping you in place as he thrusts violently.   
You scream through the gag when his bulge tips push to your seed-flap, which parts eagerly. He looks so pleased, so animalistic, so hungry as he claws at your thigh to raise it higher, pinning it back to your chest as he watches your coupling. 

He makes you orgasm like a freight train, your bulge actually stiffening out and your nook spasming as your whole body quakes. You’re absolutely certain you black out for a few seconds, because when you come to, you’re cradled in his lap, the both of you dripping with genetic material. 

His psions have left you, and your orgasm has you over-sensitive, so you mewl when he shifts to untie you. Your arms drop and he massages your shoulders briefly, then plants a kiss to your brow as he unclips the bit and pulls it from between your teeth. 

When you can speak, one hand cupping your aching jaw, you ask, “Did that prove I can come back to camp with you?”

Psiioniic chuckles softly, sweeping a hand through your sweaty hair, and he pats your distended abdomen lightly. “We’ll see.” He responds nonchalantly, gathering you into his lap as you sag bonelessly. “We’ll see.”


End file.
